


Pills

by SugarsweetRomantic



Series: Bridget Westfall, or: The Fine Art of Self-Destruction [4]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Episode: s06e01 Clean Slate, The Downfall of Westfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: Bridget deals with the aftermath of the events of 06x01 "Clean Slate".





	Pills

Bridget could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she spoke to the officers at her door. ‘Don’t let them see how scared you really are; be strong,’ she silently told herself, balancing on the crutches. She was shaking so hard she nearly lost her balance when they suddenly mentioned they were investigating the nature of her relationship with Franky. ‘None of your business!’ she wanted to scream in their faces, but she couldn’t. Polite rejection was the way to go. She knew her rights. She didn’t have to offer them access to her house if she didn’t want to. Hell, she could make them leave her grounds and go stand on the sidewalk if she felt like it, but she didn’t think that would make her any more likeable, nor would it make her any less suspicious. All she could do was continue speaking to them and pray they wouldn’t notice her agitation; pray they wouldn’t notice Franky, and pray they didn’t really have a search warrant. ‘Please, please, please,’ she begged the Heavens in an unspoken plea, ‘please save her. Just this once.’

Closing the door brought a wave of relief to wash over her like a tidal wave, nearly knocking her onto the floor if it weren’t for the crutches holding her up. She spun around to face Franky. Now that the investigators were gone, for now, and the first shock at seeing her in her hallway was settling slowly, she could finally have a real conversation with her, the first one they could have face-to-face without the surveillance cameras of Wentworth focusing on every wrinkle in her forehead and every stitch holding the fabric of her blouse together. She hadn’t even had the chance to really explain what had happened to her ankle; why she was hopping around on one damned foot. She was missing her leather pants and her heels, and she felt like less of a woman in sweatpants and tennis shoes.

Turning around to face the open-plan living area, Bridget realised Franky had left, leaving her behind, once again, with no answers, and only more new questions.

Fuck.

 _I hope my smile_ _  
_ _Can distract you_ _  
_ _I hope my fists_ _  
_ _Can fight for two_ _  
_ _So it never has to show_   
And you'll never know

Bridget sat down on her bed, staring at her hands. Her hands had just held Franky, and yet it felt like it had only been a dream, a fata morgana in a desert of agony. Ever since she had left Wentworth, she had been up all night worrying about her girl, and stressed all day, between the burdens of her work and the burden of her grief. She had been crying a lot.

Bridget Westfall didn’t cry.

Sighing softly, she reached into her bedside table drawer and grabbed a bottle of pills. _Oxycodone 10 milligrams controlled-release tablets,_ the label told her in neat print. Her ankle was killing her. It had been twelve hours, right? She wasn’t completely sure anymore, but she didn’t really care either. She was in pain. Letting one tablet roll out of the plastic container into her palm, she swallowed it dry. What had she been doing before Franky had arrived? Right, laundry. Looking down at the clothing currently covering her slim form, she suddenly felt glad she chose to wear the navy blue sweater and joggers today. The baggy clothing should hopefully have hidden how thin she had become. Hopefully.

 _I hope my love_ _  
_ _Can blind you_ _  
_ _I hope my arms_ _  
_ _Can bind you_ _  
_ _So you'll never have to see_   
What we've grown to be

The pain in her ankle seemed to only grow worse at night, as did the worries and nightmares. Last night had seen her have four panic attacks, which was better than the night before. She eyed the sleeping pills in the bathroom. She’d try sleeping without them. She was strong, right? She could do this. If Franky could be strong, so could she.

 _One may think_ _  
_ _We're alright_ _  
_ _But we need pills_ _  
_ _To sleep at night_ _  
_ _We need lies_ _  
_ _To make it through the day_   
We're not ok

At three in the morning, she gave in.

Her clients needed her, and for that, she needed sleep. She had to be able to function.

But functioning did not equal being okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics used by The Perishers


End file.
